Chapter 50
T he curtains were drawn from the walls and windows. Alora had often wondered what kind of magic the kings and queens were given from their lands, and tonight, Ladomyr made a show of his.
Being the sovereign of Land and Growth, it was no shock when the vile male spread his arms wide and opened the outer walls of the room, crumbling away that part of the mountain and windows to open the balcony overlooking Karanagar below.
It was as if she entered an entirely new realm when the rubble finally disappeared.
Every High Fae there was extravagantly designed to resemble a creature, part of nature, a royal not of themselves, or a theme of the kingdom they hailed from.
Alora dodged a female dressed like a thunderstorm. Dripping gemstones from her raincloud-like hat while lightning branched down her gown. Others wore wings bigger than doorways, some in gold, others in crimson laced with rubies, and another appeared like stained glass. She tried to hold in her disdain the more she looked around. Finding serpents, sea creatures, a male of crystals so glassy they were like mirrors, a female who seemed she rode through a forest and attached every tree branch possible to her cream gown, and one particularly vibrant couple who looked like peacocks.
The master of ceremonies had called out each arrival by their chosen name.
Alora apparently missed that missive because when the short, brown-eyed male inquired, she only swallowed and drifted her gaze around the room before he announced, The Lioness of Icestorms.
She didn’t entirely hate it.
Jade was a vision in metal scales down both shoulders, extending to her wrists. Those silver scales covered the left of her body while thistle-gray silk draped down the other. The master announced her appropriately— Dragon of Death.
Aiden, The Sea Bastard , who didn’t fancy such occasions and wore his captain’s coat, couldn’t stop staring at her.
A tuft of red roses made into wings brushed her arm. Alora turned and regarded one of Ladomyr’s wives standing beside her silently. The same female she’d seen smiling that first banquet. The same that had grinned at the guard, who returned her wicked smirk. Her gown was exquisite. With black coils and cutouts in the bodice, most of her torso bared skin and weaved the coil cage down into a garden of red and black roses, draped far behind her to follow as she walked.
Alora studied every flower with a scowl until her eyes found familiar markings underneath the coils on her side.
Burn scars.
The female noticed her exploration. She found that same guard from the other night before acknowledging her. “Ladomyr likes to display it.” Whispers of Ezander drew Alora’s attention away for a moment, then the sensual voice of the female returned, “Now you might know why I smiled when His Highness punished Ladomyr.”
“You’re not afraid of what he’d do if he found out?”
The female darkly laughed. “What else could he do to me? He’s already taken my wings.” She flexed her muscles, disturbing the rose-covered faux wings, and said through her teeth, “And everything else.” Her rose-colored glove rubbed the burn scar as if it were the last beacon to life. “My mate’s is the same.” She subtly inclined her chin at the male who watched her.
Alora’s heart squeezed.
Mate.
She’d never met anyone who the stars had blessed as mates.
The female’s lips quivered. “I can only hope His Highness doesn’t show mercy next time.” Tears clouded her eyes. A deep-seated sorrow, collecting her pain to release it down her cheeks. Ladomyr’s wife swiped under her eyes and raised her chin. Poising herself as the court expected of her. Collecting a strength Alora recognized intimately.
Alora observed the guard. Watched his hand tighten around the sword at his side as the female drew her attention away like it wounded her to do so. And she wondered if there was anything she could do. Even a moment of privacy shared in a hallway with her guarding the door.
That longing in the female’s eyes haunted her. Haunted her in a way she knew too well. Of not being able to touch the one she loved when they were so close that they saw the other breathing.
“How do you know he’s your mate?” What a stupid question, if they both held a mark blessed by the stars …
Regardless, the female smiled as if life had been given to her anew. “It’s the one being you desperately search for.” The guard dropped his chin and deeply inhaled as if he heard her over the crowd. “Your skin is clammy. Your heart refuses to beat until you lay eyes on them. That’s who your heart belongs to. It’s who you would risk everything for. Even your life.”
Motion at the throne room doors had everyone turning before the master of ceremonies announced him. They could all feel his presence the moment he entered the castle.
“The High Prince of Elysian.”
He was already staring when she met his abyss.
If Miwa thought Alora would bring him to his knees …
Flawlessly tailored to his muscles, an obsidian three-piece suit displayed his power. But the surprise—the shock gripping her so viciously she couldn’t breathe—wasn’t from that.
It was from the gold.
From the golden embroidery and winged serpent with its wings stretched wide across his shoulders, twisting its barbed tail down his back. Everywhere she looked, the gold extended to his chest and on the cuts and hemline, with one of his shoulders exploding in black flames.
Her eyes fell upon golden scales painted up the right side of his neck, over his jawline and cheek, extending past his eye onto his forehead. On anyone else, it would’ve looked absurd, but on him?—
“Just like that,” the female said, drawing her attention. “A look exactly like yours.”
“ Unicorns do exist ,” Aiden argued with the bronze-skinned courtier dressed as a whimsical lavender butterfly. Leaning against a pillar near the tables of towered pastries, platters of mixed cheeses and meats, fountains of sweet syrups, and Kadamarian delicacies.
The female smiled sweetly at him. Batting her eyelashes as she shook her head. Entirely unfazed by his trickery while she twirled a lock of rich brown hair around her finger.
Jade stood, arms crossed and a resting scowling face, launching daggers with her eyes at males. One being the nobleman from The Ruby Crown.
His hazel eyes and fine jacket had followed her around Karanagar and now perused her gown like he desired to rip it off.
With one menacing cock of her head, the males turned and found a group of courtiers more interesting. They were much more used to docile females.
Sparkling crystal of amber liquid sat in Garrik’s fingers; condensation dripped around his fingertips as he reclined on his throne. His beast likeness had faded since he first graced the room. Face unreadable as he scanned the chatting crowd and subtly plucked his jacket from his abdomen.
You look lonely up there, mighty prince, she said to distract him from the phantom touches and memories lasting from Brennus’s camp.
Garrik blinked and shifted his eyes to her.
Come down and sit with me? Alora offered.
I think I would rather you sit on me instead. He wickedly grinned. You are breathtaking.
She lightly scoffed and sent a satisfying middle finger to his mind.
Silver glistened. A tender smile graced his face as his voice softened. Come here?
On the throne? Alora bit her bottom lip and surveyed the room when a smoke-covered hand misted an arm’s length in front of her, extending an open palm. They’ll see, she informed.
Garrik hummed as if he understood all the things she didn’t say. Even Magnelis flaunted my mother. Let them see. But when she said nothing… You wish for me to beg, clever girl?
Her heart leapt. The male she’d seen give no second chances to anyone before ripping them to shreds. Death itself, reduced to begging her . Sapphires delightedly gleamed as she reflected his wicked grin.
The thought of making him beg… Ask me again.
Garrik hummed, then paused. Would you like me on my knees before your crown? Or shall I desperately await Her Majesty to bless the marble before me and shout it loud enough for Elysian to hear?
I like the idea of you on your knees . Her smile turned playfully cruel. But I shall be merciful this time. Wasting no breaths, Alora found herself at the bottom of the dais.
At those steps.
But these crimson rugs were not emerald splashed with golden threads. They didn’t sit upon redwood floorboards but polished stone. This ballroom didn’t hold memories of painful screams or the steady cadence of blood dripping. There were no curved handrails or spindles for limbs to catch in, nor three dark hallways waiting at the top with demons prowling within.
Alora didn’t watch her feet and took that first step. Her knees didn’t quake.
That drumming in her chest wasn’t in fear for what waited at the top, but in wonderment. Exhilaration. Antiquation. An eagerness that wouldn’t be quenched until she reached that final step.
Garrik was on his feet, hand extended with exultation and fervor in his eyes.
With the last step, she clasped her palm in his, so cold and lovely it surged lightning down her spine.
He bowed his head and escorted her to his throne, and then twisting, Garrik guided her onto his lap.
Removing her mask, he gazed upon her face as it fell to the floor. I … want to look at you.
Some of the gathered threw their attention to the dais, but none dared to gape as the Savage Prince met their eyes, tilted his head like a creature of night, and smirked.
An icy palm wrinkled the wintry fabric at her thigh as it explored up, up, up. Then, Garrik clasped her hip, palming it like a claim to his crown. Never once removing his eyes from those watching below.
They must’ve been a spectacle to see. A thing of ice and snow and frost draped on an Elysian nightmare. Light and darkness. Starfire and shadows. Perfectly flattering the other.
Ladomyr wasn’t so amused. Perhaps he’d seen his daughter stealing Garrik’s attention all week. Perhaps imagined a betrothal to gain more power. But seeing Alora draped on Garrik’s lap, the king’s face brightened to a pleasing shade of scarlet as the bear pelt ruffled around his shoulders and he stormed toward the open balcony.
Want to have a little fun with Ladomyr? Garrik asked with sadistic delight, brushing his other hand where her death mark remained concealed.
After last night? Alora leaned into his solid chest and pivoted her head, smirking her approval as vicious as his.
“ Ladomyr ,” Garrik’s voice thundered over the musicians and chatter, rattling the chandeliers and mountain so intensely she didn’t doubt they felt it in the dungeons below. That thing of nightmares transformed his playful voice into something like death. “Get the fuck up here.”
The king’s eyes met hers, the icy crown in her hair, and she imagined he was replaying every word, every action he’d taken in that hallway last evening. Uncertainty and terror surged through his features with every step he suffered until his boots stood feet from the white fabric of her gown.
“Your Highness,” Ladomyr grit out, bowing lower than usual. Smart male.
Like a cat playing with vermin, Garrik allowed him to remain bowing. And she thought it was a cruel game to make one so old and plump as Ladomyr to hunch like that but enjoyed it more than when she made a replica of Soulstryker. This was far sweeter.
“My lady is bored. So am I.” Then firmly spoke over the court. “As luck has it, I am on this throne and not our High King. Bring out the entertainment.” Garrik traced Alora’s forearm. “And you, Ladomyr, fetch her wine.”
Ladomyr turned up his lip but said nothing. He twisted but before he suffered another step?—
“And a plate of sweetened things.” Alora cocked her head, collecting a touch of malice in her features. Garrik’s hand squeezed her hip, nudged his nose into her neck, and growled his approval.
Ladomyr stopped. His glower could’ve sliced the air like sharpened iron.
“If she repeats herself, kingling, you will regret it,” Garrik warned. Shadows seeped from under the throne, coiling around his ankles.
Wisely, Ladomyr descended the dais.
She felt painfully aware of Garrik’s hands. One possessively gripped her hip, the other traced idle circles on her upper thigh, which was exposed by a slit in her gown. Alora didn’t dare think of how with one slip, Garrik’s hand could slip inside. How those fingers would feel?—
A familiar pulse of energy thrummed through her. She knew whatever her High Prince was illusioning for the court wasn’t the same as what was happening on the throne.
She closed her eyes and narrowed on his touch. Dropped her head on his shoulder and hummed softly as that ringed hand squeezed enough that it felt freeing. Not locked in a cage. Not set on a mantel and teased. No expectations or threats or punishments waiting.
Alora angled her face into his neck and nudged her nose against the dried gold paint there. Even with its scent, his intoxicating metal and leather stole her senses. She pressed a kiss there, licking up his taste, feeling his pulse quicken.
Garrik flexed his hips. Reverberating a low growl of pleasure as his head dropped against the throne and fought to keep his eyes open.
Alora playfully nipped his neck, determined to smear the paint down to the dip there. The rigid muscles in his abdomen didn’t tremble as she glided her fingers down him, down to the V of muscles, making it hard for him to breathe.
The restraint on his hands began to shatter. He breathed deep, trembling. I cannot keep my hands off you when you do such dirty things to me.
A devious grin. Dirty… She hummed, continuing her exploration across his upper thigh, and rubbed to the inside. Like this?
Garrik’s rings gleamed in the faelights when he gripped her thigh. The other hungrily palmed her knee, then trailed up, up, up along the inside. Polished steel devoured the sight of her on his lap, slowly flickering up her curves beneath the panels of white fabric and glistening aquamarine and diamonds.
There, in his eyes, a mix of desire and hunger swirled. A tempest waiting to destroy her in all the best ways.
She shuddered a breath when his fingers rubbed against the fabric near her core. Instinctively parting her knees as she fought the quieted moan escaping her lips.
The noise only fueled Garrik to flex his hips beneath her, and she felt his cock solid as iron while those primal male eyes didn’t dare part from hers.
Her resolve shattered against his lips.
The chill of his hands cupped her warm cheek. He met her stroke for stroke, as wild and hungry as the night before.
Breathless against his lips, she knew this was different. Almost as if the air around them was set aflame. An intensity she couldn’t explain every time he touched her.
Garrik kissed her like he spoke to her depths. Slowing them, unhurried so she understood every word, every touch, and treasured every heartbeat and breath.
But he pulled away, stopping all movement in heaving breaths, and dropped his forehead to hers. Teeth gritted with such strength, he seemed to be restraining himself from one more touch. Garrik’s voice broke. “I am … terrified of what could happen to you because of who I am.” Panting uncontrollably, his chest muscles outlined in his jacket. “What others will attempt to do, knowing what you mean to me… My darkness… The things I have done…”
Unlovable. Unworthy. He didn’t have to say it. Their tether screamed it loudly enough.
Then her mind drifted to the lord who had attempted to assassinate her High Prince, and she realized it would never be over. Garrik would always have enemies. Fae, royalty, those who’d suffered under commands he had no choice but to obey. And even when the war with Magnelis ended, there would be faeries who wouldn’t be convinced. That would never understand the Savage Prince was not who Garrik truly was. She would always be in danger.
Forcing a swallow, Alora straightened in his lap, and promised, “I’m not afraid.” She wasn’t. He was worth every risk. Warm skin touched the golden wing embellished over his heart and lovingly laced her fingers through his hair.
“You should be.” Liquid lined his eyes. “I will ruin you.”
“ My darling , you’ve already ruined me.”
Shame flashed in his features, but she wouldn’t allow it.
Alora gripped him tighter and explained, “Who I was so long before I met you … I’m not afraid of anything else you could do.”
In fact, she longed for it. Sitting in his lap. Longed for him to run his hands through all the pieces inside her that had been rough, shattered, and jagged before he freed her from her prison. And as she sat there, every shining piece of her now woven with darkness longed for him to understand that, with him, she was brave enough to climb those steps. Brave enough to sit in a crowded throne room with every eye on her. Brave enough to make demands to a king.
Not sink into the shadows.
Not allow anyone to tell her who she was or who she had to be.
Ruined. She was utterly ruined.And would never return to who she was before.
Garrik lifted her with a demanding urgency. Pulling at the back of her thighs until her knees straddled him on the throne. Wisps of gray hair fell into her hands when she brushed them from his face. The fabric of her dress slid against his thighs as he pulled her closer and rested his grip on her hips. I can hardly think when you are this close to me.
His ringed palm curved around the back of her neck, pulling her lips to his, and kissed her the same starsdamned way again. Like a crashing wave against the rock, his lips moved. Claiming her as if each kiss after the other would never be enough.
Ladomyr cleared his throat, breaking their embrace.
Alora shuffled to perch on Garrik’s leg, hers draped between his outstretched knees.
“My fool is prepared for your entertainment.” Ladomyr’s face was twisted in disgust, steadily browsing Alora’s body. “Unless Your Highness has found other forms of entertainment.” He paused and gritted his teeth at her—and her crown.
Garrik fell back on his throne and grinned; his savage mask returned. “Jealous, Ladomyr?”
“No. I enjoy my whores on their knees, as you remember.”
Calm—frigid, venomous, silent calm—covered Garrik’s face.
Alora forced herself not to cower at it, more infernally terrifying than anything she’d seen before.
His skin tightened. The bones of his face ended in sharp points, morphing into that fiery beast of marbled skin and razor-tipped teeth. He became death. Demanded it from the slow narrowing of his eyes.
Garrik, with poisonous calm, said, “I cannot kill you, Ladomyr.” Still, his face remained unaffected, sending warnings of obliteration in her veins. “That only means I can pleasure in every second of your torment until you beg me for death. And even then, I will not grant it.” He cocked his head so animalistically she was uncertain he’d reform as the winged beast on their battle leathers.
“Speak these insinuations again and your tongue will embellish the front gates.” Shadows took control of his hands, though she felt him as solid as flesh and bone. “Do you understand?”
Firekeeper’s realm. Firekeeper’s realm would be safer than the vengeance on Garrik’s face.
Ladomyr said nothing, as if it was an acceptable response.
Shadows coiled around the king’s feet, hauntingly climbing up the furs of his pants and cape. The glass of Alora’s wine slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. He coughed out in desperation when a shadow dove into his mouth and wrapped around his tongue, “ I understand. ”
Alora couldn’t stop herself from scanning the crowd. Expecting to see delight in Ezander’s eyes, but he wasn’t there—he hadn’t been all night. She only found the female adorned in roses with hope brightening her eyes.
Garrik carefully lifted Alora from his lap and stood. Her wintry fabric, covered in swirls of diamonds, swayed as he escorted her to sit on his throne. Like the shards of ice embroidered on her gown, his skin brushed her chin, tilting her gaze to him. “What do you think, my lady? Would you desire to see his fool? Or perhaps Ladomyr could fulfill such responsibilities.”
“I am no fool?—”
“ Silence. ” The command didn’t come from Garrik.
The entire throne room stilled as Alora leaned back on the throne, crossed a leg over her knee, and raised her chin—her crown—as if she were a queen residing over her court.
For a moment, her Savage Prince stared with mirth and primal hunger. Tendrils of Smokeshadows rose from his shoulders as sharp teeth glistened when he addressed her, looking at Ladomyr, “Which would you prefer, my lady? The fool or this one?”
Alora held true that face of royalty. Smug and stiff. Leveling an uncaring glare at Ladomyr, and sneered, “For what you did last evening?”
Garrik’s murderous gaze whipped to her.
Easy, mighty prince.
She was certain a bald head would roll down the steps as he thundered, He was warned not to touch you. What did he do?
He cornered me in a hallway. Ezander distracted him so I could leave.
He bared his canines at Ladomyr, but Alora decided, “The fool.” Then nodded toward the king. She debated forcing him to kiss Garrik’s boots but instead suggested, “Give him the night to prepare. He can play the fool at dinner tomorrow.”
Garrik’s answering growl shot pleasure between her thighs. His boot scuffed the shattered glass and wine as he prowled to her. Garrik swiped his boot, splashing Ladomyr’s legs before he commanded, “Clean this up.”
Ladomyr dug his boots into the dais while Garrik perched on the armrest. Shadows gathered in his hand until a filled glass sat in his palm. Oblivion for eyes watched the king as he offered it to Alora with a sinister smirk at the mere fact that he could refill her glass so easily if he wanted. But making Ladomyr squirm was richer in satisfaction than the wine in her glass.
Alora remembered the king’s words the night before. And with a feline grin and menacing rotation of her wrist, the wine spilled from the glass, emptying at the king’s feet.
A look of disdain cloaked Ladomyr’s features.
Garrik darkly laughed, pebbling her skin at the sound. “My lady’s glass is empty. Fetch her more.” The king wisely turned. “And Ladomyr,” speaking as if his name was a joke, “I never want to see her glass empty again. Now, run along.”
“So, the Serpent of Galdheir, princess?”
Alora’s blood went molten as she instantly searched the balcony for Garrik, and then thanked the stars he wasn’t there. Having never seen the female, Alora observed the wavy black hair spilling over pale shoulders. The dark dagger-like nails and black form-fitting dress matched the princess’s ugly heart.
“It’s only a shame Ezander couldn’t be here,” a courtier said.
“Apparently, he emptied a carriage worth of coin for his outfit,” another whined and sipped her crystal of brandy. “It was to be theatrical, indeed.”
Alora, standing beside the open wall, whirled to six females in various gowns of creatures and one hideous display of white-dotted red mushrooms, and interrupted them, “Where is the prince?”
They didn’t so much as look at her.
There was enough weight of unease to twist Alora’s gut as an explosion echoed in the skies, turning her skin shades of amethyst, emerald, and navy.
Erissa’s sensually obnoxious voice cut through the thunder, “Where do you suppose I got this from?” Erissa extended her neck, revealing the festering bite marks and bruises down her neck.
The courtiers gasped, some blushed, and others did a pitiful job of concealing their jealousy.
Alora rolled her eyes and watched the skies.
“The High Prince makes a thorough lover.” The words were like molten metal pouring over every inch of Alora’s skin. “He said his cock only weeps for me.”
She wasn’t entirely sure the balcony wasn’t aflame with how scorching her body felt. The borders of her vision brightened to a shade of blood as she willed embers to lay dormant in her eyes, her hands. “I think our High Prince has more important things to do than you … Erissa ,” snarling the name like a wretched curse.
Erissa let out a sharp laugh, echoing off the sneering faces covered in scarlet and hiding behind delicate pleated hand fans. “What? Like you?” And laughed again. “Do you truly think any of us believe he’d be with you ? I’m a princess. And you’re just,” the females laughed as the princess raked her eyes in repulsion over Alora’s crown and white gown, “ this .”
Every face paled. The courtiers staggered back on their expensive heels, terror veiling their faces as a solid force of ice pressed against Alora’s back, then wrapped around her waist.
Erissa froze.
Then Garrik’s voice, like nightmares given reign, growled from behind, “ This. ” Low. Vicious. Utterly deadly and cruel. “Do tell me, Erissa. What is … this ?” And splayed his hand across Alora’s stomach, across the swirling silver and gemstones there, as the mountain shuddered in warning of his dark and endless power. Of what he could do on a whim.
He … he shouldn’t be doing this. Not here. Not in front of the court.
Not for her.
“Ap—apologies, Your Highness.” The princess had the good sense of looking petrified. That evil black dress denied the colors bursting in the sky as she lifted her skirt with daggered nails and curtsied. The courtiers followed.
By Garrik’s pleasure, he didn’t call them to rise. He only said in a smooth voice, “Lower.”
Alora wondered if he found some satisfaction in imagining the female who abused him sinking to her knees. But Garrik drifted away from Alora’s back and strolled behind the females like they were nothing but the dust and dirt they knelt on.
“Bow to her .”
An overwhelming phantom wind threatened her gravity.
Terror and hatred flicked across Erissa’s face, piercing Alora’s poor attempt at masking her features with indifference and unfeeling. Every jeweled, gloved, and trembling palm met the stones. One by one, punching the air from Alora’s lungs until the heads of nobility and class were all but kissing the balcony.
Kaine had never made such a public declaration. Never for her. Not even when he asked her to bond their lives as one.
The golden paint on Garrik’s skin glistened in the exploding fire display in the sky as he sauntered around the bowing females. Crouching beside Erissa, he surveyed her, indulging in the way he tilted her chin up to find his oblivion. His attention settled on the necklace she wore with Silas the night before, and said, “If your jeweled beauty were taken away and all that remained was stone, who would charm their vision with you? Stones are for throwing, not flattering hands.” His finger rubbed that ruby gemstone around her neck.
A flash of white exploded in the sky.
“You will never be her.” Garrik forced the princess’s chin higher, stretching her neck to the point of pain. “You will never grace my bed. She will. Alora . Say her name.”
Hissing as if the name vibrating from her throat burned her, Erissa croaked, “Alora,”
A sky filled with stars and bursting sparks of fire and light, yet Garrik stared at Alora as he threatened with absolute finality, “The next time you insult what is mine, you will do much more than kneel beneath her feet. History will be eviscerated of your name. Existing not in one memory. Rotting forever in Firekeeper’s pits like your fucking soul.”
Garrik stood, hand twitching ever-so-slightly as he released the necklace and found the blazing eyes of Silas against the far outer wall then looked down on Erissa. Canines flashing. “You may be a princess, but she is a starsdamned queen.”